The Light

“Let me light that fire for you,” I said. “I’m good at it.”

The moth paused for a moment, contemplating. Her antennae quivered, as if there were a tiny breeze.

“Yes, that would be fine,” she said. “Actually, it would be quite nice of you.”

“So, where are you off to?”

“I’m searching. I’m called to search for the thing I am missing. There is a shadow inside of me, a cool empty place.” She paused looking over my head.

“I see,” I said, picking up the two smooth, dry twigs. Rubbing them together, I felt warmth radiating from the friction.

“Why do you ask?” said Moth.

“I wondered how we both happened to be in this dark place, as if we were here to meet.”

“That could be. Perhaps,” Moth said. “And you. You are here for a purpose?”

“I am consumed with too much heat,” I said. “I came to cool my face under the light of the moon. It was here a moment ago. I don’t see it now.”

“Nor I. Nor I,” she said, again rubbing her spindly legs together.

I slid the twigs back and forth and sparks glinted off, cascading onto the mound of straw I had gathered.

“Oh my,” Moth said.

Soon the straw was ablaze and I tossed my twigs onto the top, watching the tendrils of bark glow and curl back, exposing the tender innards to the fire. I turned to gather more twigs and when I turned back, Moth was gone and the fire was inexplicably larger, like a passion recently kindled.

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